Passion (30 page)

“I’m counting on you, Teryl,” he murmured, little more than a breath giving voice to the words, making her shiver. “Don’t
let me down.”

D.J. listened to the back door close, then watched out the window as John came into sight again at the far end of the
courtyard. Sprawling in a big old unpainted chair that was shaded by the overhang of the roof, he lit a cigarette, drew a
deep breath, then blew out a heavy stream of thin blue smoke. Cancer scares aside, there was something inherently sexy about
a man who smoked, especially a man as handsome as John.

Damn Teryl, she had all the luck. Who else could have picked up a stranger as good-looking and bright as this one was? Who
else could have built a relationship out of what had started as a cheap, sleazy one-nighter? Who else could have enticed that
one-nighter into pulling up stakes and coming home with her?

Who would have suspected that she could so dazzle a man like John?

And who
ever
would have suspected that, hiding underneath her oh-so-good exterior, beat a heart craving pain?

Finally Teryl quit fidgeting and met her gaze head-on. “What did you want to talk about?”

D.J. settled back in the chair. “Let me explain the concept of pickups to you, Teryl. He comes on to you—or vice versa—you
go someplace and get laid, and then you go home.
Alone
. You do not—
do not
—take a strange man home with you.
Especially
when home is a thousand miles away.” Then, abruptly, she smiled. “For someone who didn’t know what the hell she was doing,
you did pretty damned good for yourself. He’s
gorgeous
.”

Teryl glanced out the window at him as if to confirm the truth of her words. “He
is
handsome,” she agreed quietly.

“What’s he like in bed?”

As D.J. expected, Teryl blushed.

“Come on, don’t pretend we haven’t discussed our sex lives with each other ever since we had them to discuss. Tell me about
him. How does he like it?” She paused before slyly adding, “That is, besides rough.”

Teryl stared at her, a stricken look in her eyes. “What makes you think… ?”

D.J. gestured toward the bruises on her wrists.

“Oh, no, these aren’t… He didn’t…”

When she fell silent, D.J. softened her voice. “Hey, kiddo,
it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re an adult. You want to play adult games, it’s no one’s business but yours. Just
tell lover boy to show a little restraint next time. All you need is for Mama or Daddy to see those bruises, and your halo
will be tarnished forever.” Which, frankly, was something she wouldn’t mind seeing happen. Maybe, if their parents discovered
that Teryl wasn’t so damn perfect, they wouldn’t mind her own imperfections quite so much. “So… you like this guy?”

She looked out at him again. “Yeah.” Upon hearing her own response, she looked a little on the surprised side. Was the sex
so good, D.J. wondered, that Teryl hadn’t taken the time until just now to realize that she felt something besides lust for
the guy? Was she so deeply under his spell, so enthralled by his games?

Curious, D.J. directed her gaze once again toward John, studying him, this time with the experience of a lifetime of using,
and being used by, men. He looked utterly relaxed—long legs stretched out in front of him, cigarette resting between two fingers,
head back, eyes closed or nearly so; it was hard to tell from this distance. He wore jeans, faded and snug, and a white shirt,
long-sleeved in spite of the heat, the cuffs turned back to his elbows, and he looked as everyday-average as any of a hundred
men she knew.

But none of the men she knew could have caught Teryl’s fancy so effortlessly. None of them could have seduced her as quickly
and as thoroughly as John apparently had. Not one of them ever could have seduced her into games of bondage and submission
as John apparently had.

No one D.J. had ever met could have persuaded Teryl that she could find pleasure in pain. But apparently, judging from her
bruises and the fact that the man who had inflicted them was now temporarily living in her home, John had.

How? she wondered. He must have seduced her first, all gentle and charming, tender, considerate, generous, and then made his
requests.
I did it your way; now will you do it mine? I swear it won’t hurt, I’ll stop if you don’t like it, I promise you will like
it
. D.J. knew all the enticements, the words of encouragement whispered softly between kisses
and caresses, all the more effective for the intimacy in which they were offered.
Give me your hand. Let me wrap this tie around your wrists. It won’t hurt, and you’ll like it
. She had seduced more than her share of men into the darker, rougher, crueler side of sex. On occasion she had taken the
dominant role, had introduced them to their own vulnerability, but her real preference lay in the reverse.
Just tie my hands, tighter, yes, like that. Now take me however you want. Slap me, rape me, punish me… and don’t worry. I’ll
stop you if it hurts
.

Some men had been disgusted by her cravings for punishment—and even more so by the enjoyment they’d found in meting it out.
Those she had rarely, if ever, seen again. Some had returned from time to time for a little more guilt-tinged pleasure, and
she had developed full-fledged relationships with a few of them, with the ones honest enough, open enough, to admit that they
found kinkiness exciting.

But none of them had been as good, as exquisitely talented, at the games as Rich.

What would he think if he knew that sweet, innocent Teryl had been introduced to the sort of sex play that was his own personal
specialty? Just how restrained would he be if he knew he could have Teryl in his bed, bound and at his mercy, willing to suffer
his pleasure, eager to enjoy his pain? Would the loss of her naïveté and innocence make him want her less… or more?

Damned if D.J. would find out.

“So… you met John at a bar.”

Teryl simply nodded.

“You guys talked, had a few drinks.”

Another nod.

“He was by himself?”

A third nod.

“Did he buy you dinner? Take you someplace nice? Show you around the city?”

This time Teryl shook her head.

“Just talk and a few drinks. And this was on Tuesday.”

A nod again.

“And you went to bed with him Tuesday night.” When her friend gave no response, she laughed. “Jeez, Teryl, this is
like pulling teeth. All right, let’s try an angle that’s a little less personal. What does he do for a living?”

The question may have been less personal, but Teryl’s answer came no more easily. “I’m not sure.”

“He said he was self-employeed; at some point didn’t you think to ask him doing what?” When Teryl shook her head, D.J. grimaced
in dismay. “For God’s sake, Teryl, he could be a drug dealer or a gangster or a contract killer. He could be a rapist or a
thief or a—”

“Or a perfectly normal guy.”

“A perfectly normal
stranger
. Did you meet any of his friends? Did you meet anyone who had ever laid eyes on him before? Did you see where he lives, where
he works? Do you have any proof that he is who he says he is?” The pauses after each question grew briefer, giving Teryl less
of a chance to respond—which was fine, D.J. thought with a scowl, because she didn’t
have
any responses. “Is he married? Is he safe? Is he sane? Does he have any money, or is he sponging off you? Now that you’ve
brought him into your house, do you have any reason to believe that he’s not going to steal you blind or worse? Damn it, Teryl,
do you know anything at all about the guy besides the fact that he likes to tie you to the bed when he fucks you?”

The silence that followed her last question was thick and heavy. Teryl finally broke it when she slid her chair back with
a scrape and stood up. “Don’t get preachy with me, D.J. I’m an adult, not a kid. You said so yourself not ten minutes ago.”

D.J. stood up, too. “This is your idea of adult behavior? You go off to a strange city for two days. The first chance you
get, you pick up a strange man, go to bed with him, cancel your trip home, and spend the rest of the week with him. You leave
New Orleans with him in his car for a trip halfway across the country, telling absolutely no one anything about the trip or
him, and you bring him to stay with you in your isolated little house. You know nothing about him but what he chooses to tell
you, which is that he’s self-employed at doing whatever he wants, that he comes from everywhere
and nowhere and doesn’t live anywhere. You don’t even know if his name is really John!”

“This is none of your business,” Teryl said stiffly.

When she would have moved past her, D.J. moved swiftly, blocking her way. “Something’s going on here, Teryl, something weird.
You’re the most reliable, most responsible, most
normal
person I’ve ever known. You just don’t do this sort of thing. You don’t behave recklessly. You don’t take chances. You don’t
have kinky, sleazy,
dangerous
affairs.” Then, abruptly, understanding dawned. “It’s the sex, isn’t it? You like what he does to you, only you’re ashamed
to admit it. Oh, hell, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, girl. You’re hardly the first woman to discover that she gets off
on something different. But, honey, if it’s deviance you want, I know plenty of guys, safe guys, guys you can trust, who will
do whatever you ask. Say the word, and I’ll call one of them right now. Just get rid of this guy, Teryl.”

“I appreciate your concern, but there’s no reason for it. I know enough about John for now, and eventually I’ll learn the
rest.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe there
isn’t
any reason to worry. Maybe he
is
just a perfectly normal guy. But my point is you don’t
know
. A man like this is fine for having fun with, but you have to balance fun with safety. There are a few rules to these games
you’re playing, Teryl, and you don’t know them.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Teryl leaned back against the counter and smiled tautly. “I’m sure with your vast experience,
you do, so kindly enlighten me. What are these rules?”

D.J. ignored the sarcasm that thinly veiled Teryl’s words. “You don’t have sex without a condom. You don’t let him make you
do anything you’re really uncomfortable with. You don’t play with a man who might lose control and forget that it’s just a
game. And you don’t bring him into your home. You don’t let him get that close. You don’t mix him with the everyday-normal
part of your life.”

For a long time Teryl simply looked at her. When she finally
responded, it was in a murmur, soft and thoughtful. “You do have some vast experience, don’t you?”

This time it was D.J. who offered no response. While sex had long been one of her favorite topics of conversation with Teryl,
there had been much that went unsaid, including virtually all of her experiments with the darker, more daring—less normal?—aspects
of sex. She had always feared such confidences would destroy their friendship, that Teryl would begin thinking of her as sick,
perverted, or pathetic… which, of course, she was. As with everything else in her life, she went too far in her search for
sexual gratification. The sorts of little games Teryl was learning from John… those were fine, normal, even acceptable. But
when it became a way of life, as it had for D.J., when it passed from a natural curiosity to a relentless hunger, when it
became a need, an obsession, it stopped being normal. It lost its acceptance. It became a great shame.

Unexpectedly, Teryl smiled the sweet, warm, friendly smile D.J. was accustomed to. “I do appreciate your concern, D.J.,” she
repeated, “but it’s not necessary. You’re being overprotective, and you’re making assumptions that are wrong. I know this
relationship is a little out of character for me, but trust me. I can handle it. I can handle John.”

D.J. gave her a long, measuring look before replying. “I hope you’re right, Teryl. I hope to God you’re right.”

F
rom his position on the patio, John watched through barely open eyes as D.J. crossed the paving stones that led from the house
to the driveway. She didn’t spare him a glance, but he knew she was aware of him. Debra Jane Howell
never
failed to notice a man.

Growing up with D.J. for a best friend couldn’t have been easy for Teryl, he thought. Everything about the woman radiated
sexuality, from the throaty bedroom voice to the dark, coppery red hair to the impressively long, riotous curls. From the
clingy black dress that hugged her stomach and skimmed over her hips to end high on the thigh to the concealing men’s shirt
worn over it, left unbuttoned, the tails tied at her waist, the cuffs folded back a time or two. From the husky laugh to the
loose-hipped walk to the pouting mouth. There wasn’t a man alive, he suspected, whose first thought upon seeing D.J. didn’t
have something to do with sex, and there probably wasn’t a woman alive, with the exception of Teryl, whose first thought in
the same situation wasn’t
drop dead
.